


The Limits of Self-Sacrifice

by queendander



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst and Fluff and Smut, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Not Actually Unrequited Love, also im sorry abt cordelia, full stop, hes the most underrated video game character and husband, i love her!!, of anything ever, stahl is good, stahl is the best one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-02
Updated: 2017-12-02
Packaged: 2019-02-09 17:47:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12893415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queendander/pseuds/queendander
Summary: This isn’t new.The two of you have been helping each other drown sorrows since your freshman year. It’s a familiar routine, and one that used to be comforting.Recently, however, you’ve been trying to avoid the ‘benefits’ part of your friends-with-benefits relationship.Stahl is one of your closest friends. He knows you more intimately than most others in your life. You love him--and therein lies the problem. You love him.





	The Limits of Self-Sacrifice

“Take this,” you order softly, circling the couch to hand Stahl the steaming mug of tea. He takes it wordlessly, averting his gaze. Understanding his desire to avoid conversation, you sit down next to him and turn on the TV.

“Hey,” he mutters and says your name after a few minutes of muffled noise from the local news station. He puts down the now-empty mug and wraps his arm around you, pulling you closer to his side. “Thanks for coming over,” he says after you settle against him without hesitation. 

“Always,” you reply, chuckling. “You’d do the same. Are you ready to talk about it?” you probe gently. He just sighs and looks somewhere slightly above your head, clearly avoiding telling you what you already know to be true. “Was it Chrom or Frederick this time?” you ask. He flinches and you know you’ve hit the nail on the head.

“Both, if you can believe it,” he sighs. “Some freshman in the class I TA for--”

“The redhead you’ve been talking to?” you cut in, having been regaled with tales of her kindness and hotness for the entire semester.

“Cordelia,” he confirms. You nod sagely.

“That bitch,” you offer casually. He turns to look down at you, offended. 

“She’s not a bitch, she’s very nice!” he retorts. “Anyway,” he continues after you concede, “she finally told me the truth. She’s been talking to me because she knows that Frederick and I are close, and she was under the impression that I could introduce her to him, and by proxy, to Chrom. Again.”

You suck in a pained breath, sympathetic. “Oh, Stahl, that’s such bullshit. Why would she do that to you? I’m so sorry.”

Stahl keeps going. “Am I that much of a loser? What’s wrong with me? I know I’m boring and average, but I… I really liked her,” he finishes, sounding utterly defeated.

You press your side further into his, snaking an arm around his back for physical support as well as emotional grounding. “You’re not a loser,” you begin. He scoffs. “You’re not,” you repeat, pinching him lightly. “And it’s her loss if she couldn’t even be bothered to realize what she had in front of her.”

“She really is very nice,” he says again. “I knew she’d liked Chrom for a long time. I was just hoping that maybe she could like someone else, too. I brought this upon myself, honestly.” He leans over to pick up the mug again, inspecting it to see if there was anything left inside. “I’m gonna make another cup, maybe put together a snack,” he decides. “Do you want anything?” He gets up and leaves the couch before you can lay into him for his defeatist attitude and lack of self confidence. That argument is an old and tired one, and neither of you really have the will or the energy to revive it right now. Instead, you just tell him that yeah, you could eat. 

He starts puttering around his kitchen, pots clanking and kettle boiling, and you remember that for Stahl, “snack” tends to be more of a full meal. You sit on his couch, idly flipping through channels on the old television (not much on at 2 AM, though). As you finally land on a rerun of an old show you used to love, he yells your name from the kitchen, head most likely buried in his well-stocked fridge.

“When do you want to go to bed?” he asks matter-of-factly.

“When do I what?” you call back. You hadn’t really packed anything to stay over. Stahl had called you, sounding absolutely wrecked, and you immediately grabbed your wallet and keys and made the short trip to his apartment. It wasn’t anything new, but usually you had at least a toothbrush if you were planning to crash at his place.

“You’re practically passed out already. I’m not going to send you back out in the cold at an ungodly hour in the morning, especially when I’m the one who forced you to come here in the first place.” He closes the fridge and walks back out to the living room, putting a bowl of cereal in your lap and handing you a spoon before going back to the kitchen to finish cooking. You make a grateful noise and begin eating dutifully.

“The walk isn’t that far,” you say in between bites. “I’ve been doing this all semester. It’s not that late. I don’t even have a change of underwear, Stahl.”

“I don’t really want to be alone right now,” he admits as he finally sits back down on the couch, dropping his tray of food on the coffee table. He breaks the chopsticks that he carried out with him, stirring the ramen he just made and staring into the swirling soup. “If you really don’t want to stay, that’s fine, I just… I think I’d rather you do.” He drops a generous amount of Spam slices and two whole eggs into the bowl and starts eating. 

You find yourself hypnotized by the dedication with which he devours his late-night snack, eating with fervor and barely even pausing to breathe. Finally he looks up, noticing your stare, and wordlessly he swipes his tongue across his lower lip, bringing a hand up to wipe his mouth. “Will you stay?” he asks quietly, startling you back into the present. It takes you more effort than you’d be willing to admit to tear your eyes away from his lips. You nod.

“If that’s what you need, then of course,” you tell him. He smiles and goes back to eating his food. You take a breath and lean back on the couch, choosing to focus on your own bowl of cereal. It’s already gone soggy, but it’s still easier for you to stomach than the feelings you really don’t need to be dealing with right now. 

The two of you sit in companionable silence, finishing your food and channel surfing, until Stahl yawns. “I might turn in soon,” he says, putting a hand lightly on your thigh. You turn to face him, expression unamused.

“Stahl… Did you invite me over as a rebound from a relationship you weren’t even in?” Despite your harsh words, he doesn’t remove his hand. This isn’t new. The two of you have been helping each other drown sorrows since your freshman year. It’s a familiar routine, and one that used to be comforting. Recently, however, you’ve been trying to avoid the ‘benefits’ part of your friends-with-benefits relationship.The two of you haven’t actually had sex since he started talking to Cordelia, mostly through your own doing. Stahl is one of your closest friends. He knows you more intimately than most others in your life. You love him--and therein lies the problem. You love him.

Stahl laughs and takes one of your hands, squeezing it, forcing you out of your thoughts.

“I wouldn’t say I’m trying to rebound,” he says, “but yeah, I would be lying if I said hadn’t… considered the possibility.” You knew it. You sigh and trace your thumb over his knuckles.

“I’ll sleep with you,” you begin, and the way he perks up makes you sigh. “I’ll sleep with you, BUT, I don’t want to fuck. I will sleep in the same bed as you because this couch is hell on my back. Also, it’s almost four in the morning.” He deflates a little, but you have to give credit where credit is due--his smile never leaves and his overall attitude remains the same. He gives you a crushing hug and stands up, pulling you with him. “I’m not sleeping in my clothes, though,” you inform him.

“I would never make you do that,” he gasps, and you honestly can’t tell whether he’s being sarcastic or is legitimately that affronted by the thought of being less than totally accommodating. The two of you enter his bedroom and he pulls open his dresser, handing you an old shirt and pausing. “Do you want pants, or…?” 

“Yes. I want pants.” You nudge him to the side and pull out a pair of sweatpants that you’ve borrowed at least half a dozen times before. Stahl shrugs before retreating to his bathroom to brush his teeth and finish his nightly routine. You change quickly and follow him. “Do you have an extra toothbrush?” you ask. He mumbles encouragingly, mouth full of toothpaste, and motions towards his medicine cabinet. Following his gesture, you open it and find a new toothbrush still in its packaging.

Getting ready for bed with him is nothing new, but this is the first time you’ve felt so closed in by the small bathroom walls. There isn’t anywhere you can go in this room that you aren’t touching him. It’s frighteningly intimate in ways you had always assumed you would never feel with Stahl. And yet here you are, struggling not to choke on toothpaste as your breath hitches when he puts a hand on your waist to move around you and reach his towel. What a joke.

By the time you get out of the bathroom, Stahl is already in bed. He’s reading something on his phone and didn’t notice you open the door. You watch him silently for a moment, your heart breaking for more than one reason. This whole night has been an exercise in mental fortitude for you. His emotional strife, especially combined with your bottled up feelings, has not been good for you. Also now, away from prying eyes and the need to put up a front, Stahl looks absolutely demolished. Where usually his expression was neutral and content, if a little spacey, his brow is now furrowed and his eyes bloodshot. The corners of his mouth are turned down and his whole posture screams unhappiness and disappointment.

You want to run to him and hold him forever, tell him you love him, scream from the top of your lungs that you’ll never let anyone do to him what Cordelia and so many others have done. You want to be more than just a sisterly partner-in-crime. You want him to be happy and you want to be the one to make him happy. You want to love him, unashamed. But right now, more than anything, you want him to sleep. You want to sleep.

And so you climb into bed next to him, noticing that he remembered which side you prefer, curl up facing the wall, and close your eyes. Stahl says your name. You turn your head to peer at him. He says, “Thanks for staying.” You nod. He says, “Goodnight.” You hum in response. He turns off the light and you turn away. You fall asleep to the rhythmic sound of his slow, even breaths, wishing that you could stand to turn around and hold him, for his sake if not your own. You don’t move.

 

* * *

 

You wake up with a jolt, legs tangled in sweaty sheets and half-suffocating yourself with a pillow that smells like Stahl. You snort some hair into your mouth and start coughing loudly before remembering that you’re in his room, explaining the pillow, and he’s asleep next to you, explaining the snoring. You cover your mouth to muffle the noise of your cough.

You carefully extract yourself from the blankets, noticing with a small grin that during the course of the night, you had managed to steal more than half of them from the other side of the bed. Stahl was clinging on to the last edge of sheet he had with all his might. As you get up, you carefully slide some of the comforter over him and he visibly relaxes.

Walking slowly to the bathroom, you spare a glance out the window at the pale sky, sun not yet visible but definitely rising. You’ve gotten a few hours of sleep, at least. You close the bathroom door and run your hands through your hair. You stare at your exhausted reflection in the bathroom mirror and splash some cold water on your face in a weak attempt to rejuvenate yourself. “It’s too early for this,” you mutter, and get back in bed, making sure to leave Stahl with enough of the covers to be comfortable.

You lie there for a while, trying and failing to go back to sleep, and resign yourself to looking at the man next to you instead. Realistically, you don’t need to be looking at him. You could close your eyes and meditate. You could get up, get dressed, and leave. You could make breakfast. Or you could lie silently next to one of your best friends and watch him sleep because you can’t be with him.

You feel something hot trickle out of the corner of your eye and slide down your face toward the mattress. You’re crying, you realize, and it almost makes you laugh. You turn away from Stahl, somehow still sleeping soundly, and rub an arm furiously across your eyes. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, you come to the most logical conclusion you care to. Why are you torturing yourself like this? Stahl is and has been one of your closest and truest friends. You’ve been having sex with him on and off for years. Nothing has changed. Nothing has to change. You want him, and nothing is preventing you from having him, at least physically.

You take another breath to clear your head and check the small alarm clock on the bedside table. 6:30 AM. A perfectly reasonable time for you to wake someone up for sex.

Rolling over again, you scoot closer to Stahl and press yourself against his firm back. You wrap an arm around his waist and take his hand in yours. He stirs a little, but doesn’t wake. You squeeze his hand and whisper his name. He hums and smacks his lips a little. You say his name again, louder.

“What… what happened?” he croaks out, finally waking up. Finding himself in your embrace, he turns his head and shifts so he can face you. “Are you okay?”

“What will you say if I tell you I changed my mind?” you venture, moving closer to bury your face in his shoulder. Instinctively, his arms come up to wrap around you.

“Changed your mind about what?” he asks, stroking your nape tentatively.

“I want to sleep with you,” you mumble into the crook of his neck. His breath catches for a moment and you remember belatedly how sensitive the column of his throat is. There’s no movement for a beat, and then he tightens his arms and pulls you closer to him. 

“Are you sure?” You nod. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to, it’s honestly fine,” he continues, never letting go of you. “I really didn’t call you last night to sleep with you,” he says. You break out of his grasp to stare him in the eye.

“I want to sleep with you,” you repeat, no hesitation in your voice. “I want you to fuck me.” Stahl’s eyebrows raise for a moment and his face twitches before splitting into a lazy, early-morning grin. It looks perfect on him.

“Well that’s great,” he says as he rolls on top of you, bracing his arms on either side of your head, “because I want to fuck you.” He leans down and you slide your hands up to cup his face as you kiss. It’s short and sweet, like a greeting between old friends. You suppose, at the end of the day, it IS a greeting between old friends. Before you can continue to spiral, Stahl says your name softly and kisses you again. You run your fingers through his permanent bedhead, tugging slightly at the ends and getting a pleased hum from the man. He breaks the kiss and looks down at you, smirking. 

“What, did you think I was going to forget?” you said, trying not to sound breathless. Before he can answer, you pull lightly again. Stahl practically melts. You bring his head down to yours and kiss him once more. He shifts his weight onto one arm and runs his other hand down your side, trailing his fingers from your face to your neck, to the side of your breast, to your hip and your thigh, and back up again until it comes to rest at your waist. He squeezes firmly and you gasp before retaliating by scratching your fingernails down his clothed back, grabbing the bottom of the shirt, and tugging it up with force.

“Wait, wait,” he laughs breathlessly, and scoots back so he can kneel on the bed and take his shirt off properly. When he finally sheds the layer, you have a perfect view of his broad, toned chest and the smattering of freckles on his shoulders, not to mention the light blush dusting the whole area. He catches you staring and laughs again, sounding slightly embarrassed. “Don’t be like that,” he says dopily. “I’m really not so much to look at. Pretty average, honestly.” 

“Stahl,” you say in lieu of a reprimand. He knows very well your stance on his habit of self-deprecation. Instead of fleshing out your statement, you sit up and hook your legs around his waist, sliding forward to rest in his lap comfortably. He holds you there and you kiss again, hands slipping from your waist to your hips and then down under your (well, his, really) sweatpants to grab your ass as you make out.

His lips leave yours and he trails kisses and nips down your neck to suck at your collarbone. You manage a little whine before grabbing his face to kiss him again, and he goes willingly. You nip and lick at his trembling lips as he pulls down your pants and underwear in one swift motion. He pushes you back gently to take them off completely, and you lie down, stretching your arms above your head lazily.

“Jesus,” Stahl mutters, eyeing your frame as you pant softly. You reach out to him and he leans back over you. “Yeah, I’m here,” he says and you kiss him, shoving your tongue past his lips roughly and wrapping your legs around his trim waist. He grinds down and moans your name, the soft fleece of his pajama pants doing a poor job at disguising just how hard he already is. You buck against him and dig your fingers into the muscle of his back, both of you groaning your approval. 

“Stahl,” you whine, and he chuckles.

He grabs your hips tightly and presses against you once more before sliding his hands under your shirt. He pauses, rubbing his thumbs over the soft skin of your ribcage. “Can I?” he asks breathlessly. You nod, grabbing his wrists and pulling them so his palms cup your breasts, and he grins. He squeezes gently and sighs in content, moving to pinch your nipples. When you squeak, he flips your borrowed shirt up and then stops.

“What is it?” you demand, already tugging the tee the rest of the way off. You drop it off the side of the bed with the rest of your shed clothing and, now nude, look at Stahl expectantly.

“Sorry,” he says, shaking himself out of whatever stupor he was in. “It’s… been awhile, huh?” he comments, eyes still locked on your body as he trails a hand between the valley of your breasts to rest on your soft stomach, letting it rise and fall in time with your breathing.

The sudden tenderness makes you feel shy. In all the time you’ve known him, Stahl has never been anything less than totally charming and caring, but in this setting, even with all your history, the intimacy is almost too much to bear. You look away and feel the heat rise to your face. “Not since last semester,” you mutter, resting a hand on his and entwining your fingers despite yourself.

“You look good,” he says quietly, almost like a private thought that you weren’t meant to hear. You finally look at him and wow, if you thought you were red, Stahl is practically glowing with embarrassment. It makes you smile despite yourself, and you hope you’re not being totally transparent.

“I didn’t before?” you tease, and gosh, he’s so cute when his eyes widen and he tries to explain himself so frantically. “I know what you mean, Stahl,” you reassure him when he starts sputtering. “You look good, too.”

Stahl leans back and licks his lips, once, twice, and you’ll never get tired of watching that. He furrows his brow and gives you another once-over before opening his mouth, reconsidering, and then opening it again. When he finally speaks, his words make you want to sing with joy.

“I kind of really want to eat you out right now,” he says, and what a glorious sentence that is to hear. “Would you mind if I…?” he trails off and starts scooting down your body. You run a hand through his hair again and smile.

“Yes, please,” you say. “I don’t think I could mind if I tried,” you inform him, and that’s all he needs to hear. Without another moment of hesitation, he practically dives between your legs, and oh, now you remember why you’re always so drawn to his mouth.

He starts slow, but not light, dragging long, flat stripes up your slit with a delicious pressure that has you gasping already. You fist your hand in his hair and try to breathe as he switches tactics, running the tip of his tongue through your folds and barely, just barely, into your entrance. His hands can’t seem to stay still either, one second holding you firmly by the waist, then grabbing your ass, then running up and down your thighs, and then, and THEN, one of his deft fingers comes up to aid his mouth.

You can’t help it, all of the breath you’ve been holding in comes out in a rush of air, and you yowl. “Fuck, Stahl!” you cry, and he groans your name, speaking into your pussy as he cannot bring himself to stop eating it. His thumb massages your clit as he slides his tongue in and out of you, and then they switch as he fingers you roughly and suckles and licks all the tender bits of flesh around your entrance.

He can feel you start to tense up and tremble, and you can feel your legs going numb and heat building up inside of you as you get closer and closer to climax. He switches tactics yet again, adding another finger to pump into you and focusing his mouth directly on your clit, sucking it harshly. You tense up one last time and then you’re lost in the pleasure of it all, shaking with orgasm as you come violently for what you know is only the first time this fine morning. Stahl slows his fingers and eases his mouth off of you, licking one last time for good measure, making you twitch. He slips his fingers out and strokes your entrance, gathering some of the slick on the already-wet digits. You stare at him as he brings them to his mouth and licks them clean, eyes closed, clearly enjoying the taste of you.

“Do you--” you start, and then regret it as it snaps Stahl out of his reverie. His eyes fly open and he pulls his fingers from his lips fast as a bullet, looking like he were caught in the act of something not meant for others to see. You take a few deep breaths, still feeling that post-orgasmic haze, and try again. “Do you have a condom?” you say, and that gets his attention.

“Oh, yeah, I do,” he mumbles, and then turns to the bedside table. As he opens the drawer and starts rummaging around, you sit up. You sidle up behind him and deftly pluck the foil-wrapped item from the mess he’s created, pressing your chest against his back. “Hello,” he says, and turns his head to capture your lips with his. You get lost in his kiss and he takes it back from you. The two of you keep kissing as he moves to lean above you again. He puts the condom on the pillow next to your head and grabs your breasts. He squeezes them and hums in approval before leaning down to take a nipple in between his teeth. Your breath hitches and he swipes his tongue over the nub before sucking hard.

“Come on, Stahl, I just came,” you whine.

“I just wanna make sure you’re still having a good time,” he replies before focusing his attention on your other nipple.

“I would be having a better time if you weren’t wearing pants,” you say, trying to sound put out even as your voice quivers with pleasure and slight overstimulation. You know he can hear it and he laughs. Without even sitting up, he shoves his pants down and off, shimmying out of them and tossing them over the edge of the bed.

Finally, finally, you get to see Stahl completely bared to you. It’s something you haven’t been privy to for many a month, but it’s clear that nothing has changed about his figure (and his assets). He considers himself a cripplingly average man, and you have to concede that yes, you’ve seen people with larger muscles and slimmer figures, and even people with bigger dicks and more extreme proportions. That being said, you’ve also seen Stahl, and Stahl is perfect for you. Everything about him seems tailor made for you, and you for him. Everything about this seems right.

You reach out and trace a finger over the head of his cock before stroking down its length, grabbing it when you reach the base and tugging back up with more pressure and force. It’s a calculated move, and one that has immediate effect. Stahl almost collapses on top of you, and your name rolls out of his mouth, voice gravelly and at the edge of control.

“Please,” he grunts, bucking up into your fist. It occurs to you that he’s been holding back basically since you woke him up, and he’s been doing it for you. The thought makes your chest hurt.

“Fuck me, Stahl,” you whisper, spreading your legs and wrapping your arms around his shoulders. He scrambles for the condom, tearing open the wrapper and almost dropping it in his rush.

“Okay,” he replies in the same hushed tone as he rolls the rubber on in one swift move, lines up, and plunges into you. Both of you cry out, and he leaves you feeling so full that you need to squeeze down around him. He moans again and starts thrusting. 

It takes him a few tries to find an angle you’re both satisfied with, but when he does, it’s worth all the time in the world. You keen as the ridge of his head drags against the walls of your entrance, and start to move your hips in time with his. Stahl is sweating bullets from the exertion, and when you pull him down to kiss him, you can taste the salt on his lips. You lap it up like you’re dying of thirst, sucking on his lower lip hard enough to bruise, and his pace turns brutal. This was never going to be a long round, the desperation and the holding back and everything else made sure of that, and it isn’t long at all before his hips are slowing, his pace breaking, and he shudders to a halt inside you. He practically sobs your name as you milk him for all he’s worth. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and whisper into his ear, praising him and coaxing him through the release. 

When he comes back from his orgasm, he kisses you hard and says your name like a prayer, reverent, gazing into your eyes and through them. You imagine he’s seeing everything you didn’t want him to notice and dread starts to curl through your belly. Before you can say anything to him, though, a shock of pleasure jolts through you and you jump. Stahl, angel of angels, hasn’t pulled out. He has two fingers slowly rubbing your clit in circles, coaxing you towards another orgasm, and you’re close.

“Come on, babe,” he says. “Let me do this for you.” You squeeze your eyes closed and grab his wrist, going into spasms as you come for the second time. He kisses you, capturing your high-pitched, breathy moans, and holds you as you too come back to earth. Finally, once you’re catching your breath, he pulls out and lands on the bed beside you, flopping like a ragdoll. He pulls off the condom and ties it, throwing it in the general direction of the trash. 

“Thank you,” you say, still slightly out-of-breath. You grab his hand and intertwine your fingers with his, rubbing your thumb over his knuckles.

“I have to pull my weight somehow,” he says, squeezing your hand before bringing it to his lips and kissing the back of your hand, your knuckles, the tips of your fingers. The warmth and (dare you say it?) love of the action makes you shiver. “I know, I know,” he laughs before you can say anything, “I have to stop being so self-deprecating. You don’t have to remind me!” He pulls you over so you’re lying on top of him, and he wraps his arms securely around your lower back. Your head is pillowed on his chest and he rests his chin in your hair.

After a few minutes of basking in the afterglow, you speak up, not moving from your perch on his chest. “I didn’t think that was going to happen today,” you say. He strokes your back and hums in agreement. “I never liked Cordelia anyway,” you tell him.

“That’s a bit of a non-sequitur,” he remarks, “but I know.” You flick his arm and he chuckles, then sighs and stares at the ceiling. “I meant it when I said she wasn’t that bad,” he says. “I really think she just… doesn’t know how to approach things directly. She knows what she wants, but there’s something… stopping her, I guess. Preventing her from making that move.”

You feel a lump form in your throat at his words. Logically, you know he’s not talking about you, but every word he says pierces your chest as a direct accusation. You want to say something, anything, but all you can manage is a nod in agreement. Stahl keeps going.

“Honestly, I’ve been naive. I think she’s really in love with him. But I…” he sighs again, and you try to sit up so you can see his face. His arms lock you in place, though, and you realize that he doesn’t want you to see him crying. “I guess… I just wish… someone would love me like that.” He huffs out a little, bitter laugh and your heart shatters. All the resolve you’ve had until now, all the excuses you’ve made, every time you’ve cried yourself to sleep over this, it doesn’t matter to you now. You can’t keep up the charade anymore. You need to say something now, or you’re never going to say anything at all.

The room is silent for a long moment as you steel yourself. When Stahl seems about to apologize, change the subject, and pretend none of this ever happened, you finally decide to speak up. You pull out of his embrace so you can look at his face. He is crying, but you can’t let that stop you. You take a shuddering breath and you only have one thing to say.

“I love you like that."

Stahl’s face goes blank instantly and it stays that way for one, two seconds until his expression crumples into the deepest lament you’ve ever seen on a human being. He smiles sorrowfully and closes his eyes. He puts his hands over his face and mumbles through them, saying your name so quietly you almost miss it.

“I don’t need you to say that to me just to cheer me up,” he mutters. Even speaking this quietly, his voice sounds raw and wet, and his voice is shaking. “Please… just forget about this,” he continues. “I’m sorry for making you do all of this for me.” If you thought your heart was broken before, you were wrong, because right now the hole in your chest is gaping impossibly wide.

“I’m not, Stahl, I’m… not just trying to cheer you up,” you whisper, feeling tears of your own welling up in your eyes. “I wouldn’t just… I’m not that kind of person.” Your voice cracks and, oh, you’ve really done it now. The tears keep falling and you put an arm over your face. You sit up, hunched over, trying to steady your breathing. It doesn’t work, and instead you let out a sob. Stahl is up instantly, making the shift from defensive to protective so quickly you almost get whiplash. He turns you to face him, wiping away your tears even as his own keep falling, saying your name over and over.

“Don’t, don’t cry,” he begs. “I’m sorry, shit, I’m sorry,” he says, pulling you into his arms again. You wrap your hands around his biceps, holding on for dear life.

“I love you, I really love you,” you cry weakly into his chest, saying it again and again between sobs and hiccups, hoping that somehow the repetition will make him understand just how serious you really are.

He’s still crying too, and you sit there in each other’s arms for a minute, letting it all out. Finally, when the both of you have calmed down enough to at least breathe, Stahl speaks up.

“Do you really mean it?” he asks, and you fly out of his embrace, eyes wide and desperate and full of dismay. He shakes his head, grabbing your shoulders. “No, no, I’m sorry, I know you mean it.” He looks down, hands shaking on your shoulders, and you grab them, bringing them down onto your lap, unsure of what he’s about to say. He squeezes your hands and takes a long, deep breath.

“Stahl…” you say, trying to prompt him to say what’s clearly on his mind. He takes another breath and makes eye contact with you 

“I love you too,” he says. The words rush out of his mouth like he can’t keep them in. You feel your eyes start to well up again and you let the tears fall.

You want to say something deep, or grandiose, or even just encouraging, but all you can manage is a shaky “Really?” and another sob. It’s okay, though, because Stahl is smiling and nodding and he’s crying again too, but these are happy tears, and wow, you guys are a couple of dense crybabies, huh? And Stahl is saying things, but you’re only half listening because the blood is rushing to your head. You feel like you’re going to faint, or throw up, or scream, anything to release all the built up pressure in your body. You try to focus on Stahl.

“I thought there was no way you would want to be with me,” he’s saying, and you’re shocked, because why would you ever not want to be with Stahl?

“I thought the same thing,” you tell him. He starts laughing even as he cries, and you can’t help but do the same. The two of you are crying and laughing, totally naked, surrounded by a mess of sweaty sheets that needed to be in the laundry an hour ago. It’s 8:30 in the morning and you’re both so sleep-deprived, but it seems to you like everything has finally aligned. Stahl is with you, in your arms, and he loves you, and that’s all you need.

 

* * *

 

**EPILOGUE**

 

Stahl hums an old tune as he turns down the stove, making sure the pasta doesn’t boil over. His son, Morgan, sits at the table in the kitchen, waiting diligently for his dinner. The six-year-old has his homework in front of him, but has been steadfastly ignoring it ever since his dad pulled out a box of macaroni and cheese. Said dad decides to take action before the food is ready and Morgan’s attention is focused solely on eating for the next hour, and then on his mom when she gets home.

“So what’s your work for tonight, kiddo?” he says. Morgan answers without a pause. 

“We have to ask someone about themself. It’s um, an interview. When’s food ready?” Stahl laughs at the attempt to change the subject. This kid is certainly his.

“Soon, Morgan. Be patient. So, an interview, huh? Any idea who you want to  ask?” He looks expectantly at his son, raising his eyebrows and pointing at himself, before pulling out a plastic bowl and fork to serve the food 

Morgan flips through his composition notebook before landing on a blank page. “I was gonna ask Mommy, but I guess I can ask you instead. Do I have to finish all the broccoli?”

Stahl checks the pasta again, stirring it a few times. “Yes you do, baby. I’ll go ahead and assume that WASN’T the question you need to ask for your homework. What are you curious about?” He brings the pot over to the sink to strain out the macaroni. Morgan scribbles a few things down on his page diligently.

“Um, I have to ask what your most important memory is.”

“My most important memory… Well, how about when I met Mommy?” Stahl smiles as Morgan perks up. He knows his kid, and the boy loves to hear about his parents’ past, especially his mom’s. He waits for Morgan to finish writing as he mixes the cheese and the pasta together.

“Can you tell me?” Morgan asks, excited now. Stahl smiles.

“Mommy and Daddy met our first year in college. We were in three classes together! We kept running into each other."

“I’m only in one class,” Morgan says, considering his dad’s words.

“It works a little differently when you get older,” Stahl explains as he pours the mac and cheese into Morgan’s bowl. “Anyway, one day, your mom came up to me and introduced herself. She was so pretty, I couldn’t even say anything!” He puts a few pieces of broccoli on a plate and sets the food in front of his son.

Morgan has stars in his eyes as he imagines his parents’ first meeting. “Mommy is pretty,” he says. “Was it love at first sight, Daddy?”

Stahl laughs as he sits down next to the little boy. He stares nostalgically at the photo on the wall, a picture of the two of you on your honeymoon. He smiles.

“Yeah, kiddo. Yeah, it was.”

**Author's Note:**

> way back in early october i got very drunk with a few friends of mine and started going off about how much i love stahl
> 
> and i REALLY love stahl, he's my absolute number one all time video game bf (and honestly fictional bf in general)
> 
> anyhow, i decided to write a fic and, being drunk, decided to use that one prompt generator
> 
> http://bleep0bleep.tumblr.com/promptsnsfw
> 
> so uhh, i found the almost-finished fic in my docs today and figured i'd go ahead and finish it off.


End file.
